


Through the Double Glazing

by glowinginahuddle_ (essexgrl68)



Category: Blur (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28532493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essexgrl68/pseuds/glowinginahuddle_
Summary: It’s a chance in a thousand we’ve met, we’ll never have the chance again and you know it.  Stay with me.  We love each other.  E. M. Forster, Maurice, p. 216.I’d been wondering for a long time what might have happened if their “Parklife” personas were part of a show like “Eastenders.”  Btw I know the video is clearly London but for my own purposes I’m thinking this is a seaside town like Brighton or Margate.  A lot of inspiration throughout my life has come from reading Morgan Forster’s brave, compassionate writings and his Maurice is about two men who ogle each other, meet, fuck, and realize they’ve found their one true love.   This was also partly inspired by an old friend who, no joke, knew on meeting their husband that he was THE ONE and gave him a stellar blow job on that first date.  They are together still, many many years later.    BTW as of the new year I’m wanting to use glowinginahuddle_ as my pseud instead of essexgrl68.  The “girl” part of that one has been grating on me, but I didn’t want to lose the links to my old works.  Hope that’s not too confusing!
Relationships: Damon Albarn/Graham Coxon
Comments: 14
Kudos: 25





	Through the Double Glazing

Damon studied himself in the mirror, musing. “Well, this doesn’t usually happen. Since when am I nervous?” This felt different. This boy was different. That was the only reason Damon had been skulking around him for the past week or so and why this morning was such a shock - and probably why he’d pulled the idiotic derp face through the stupid window. Now, he’d actually made plans to meet HIM. Graham. Graham. A lovely name for a lovely boy. Damon shivered a bit when he thought of the huge brown eyes that had shone back at him when they’d agreed to meet this afternoon, of the way Graham had kept compulsively touching long fingers to the bridge of his spectacles, his hair, his nose, his lips. There was something terribly innocent about Graham that had touched Damon to the core and made this more than just pulling a boy, or girl, for some fun later on. Especially since they’d talked about music. Right now the radio was playing The Stone Roses, “One Love”. “You feel my flow, and you flood my brain…” Was that a good sign? He hoped so.

Thank heavens there’d been a bit of time to ready himself, particularly to get out of the monkey suit that he was forced to wear while on the hated sales job. Damon had even showered and now pulled his hands through his sandy hair, making sure his fringe fell properly over his forehead. He’d considered cologne but balked at it, thinking it too much. Cranberry polo jersey, freshly laundered jeans belted, and his Dad’s old cream Harrington jacket. He touched the beads at his neck, for luck. No denying it, he was smitten. This shy, slender, dark-haired angel had knocked the self-confidence out of him and surprisingly, it felt good. Damon grinned at his reflection. Just thinking of being able to see him again so soon, to sit and talk with him and hear that sweet voice, gave him a rush of happiness. 

Graham splashed water on his face in the tiny bathroom at the back of the record shop. He felt positively sick and couldn’t determine if it was from nervousness or from incredible elation. Probably both. This situation was new and alien. For his entire teenage and adult life he’d just assumed that the fumbling, short-lived, and somewhat unsatisfactory encounters with young ladies who’d passed through his existence were the apex of what love and desire were. The fact that all his close friends and heroes were male, and most of the anonymous people that he sketched on the beachfront or high street were young men, hadn’t sunk into his conscious mind as a signal that the reality of loving a boy was possible. Until HIM. Since spying that perfect blue-eyed face, the golden hair and skin, the supple body, about a week ago, he’d been obsessed. He’d sketched, and shredded, dozens of tiny drawings of the boy that didn’t quite capture him. He’d been shocked, twice, at waking from the most explicit and hugely satisfying wet dreams of his life, starring this blond vision. He’d almost fainted when said vision had appeared on his doorstep that morning and then again at the record shop this afternoon and had proven to be charming - flirtatious, even. And that voice! As warm and golden as the rest of him. 

Graham realized he was gnawing at his fingers again and pulled them hastily away from his mouth. He checked the mirror; not much point, he was never satisfied with who peered back at him. All he saw were glasses, a beaky nose, a skinny body. At least the horizontal stripes on his jersey gave a bit of broadness to his chest and shoulders, he thought. Graham couldn’t imagine why Damon had been so chatty, had smiled that crooked grin at him, over and over, and had asked to see him again...He wasn’t sure how to categorize this. Was it a date? Was he reading too much into just going down the pub with a new mate? This was all so foreign to him. The radio had been on softly after Graham had switched off the demo records on the shop sound system and as he went to turn off the power and the lights, a Stone Roses song was playing: “Show me a vision you wild apparition.” Graham slung his favourite jacket over his shoulder, an old tweed from the flea market, and carefully locked the shop door behind him. He tried for nonchalance, putting one shoulder on the shop wall as he peered down the street.

(First thoughts)

Oh bloody hell, he’s beautiful. (Damon and Graham)

NO. Don’t be pigeon-toed. You’re too adorable already how did I not notice this before at least it makes you not quite perfect thank god for that. Shit. How can blue eyes be so like an arctic lake and so warm at the same time? Shit. In my mind THIS IS A DATE. (Graham)

Don’t mess this up. He’s too perfect. He’s more than a fuck. You might want him, but you want him as a friend, too. Slow down. Get your eyes off that bottom lip that he’s biting. And the way that perfect body is leaning against the wall. NO. Don’t wiggle your fingers at me and smile. (Damon)

“Awright?” ‘Yeah, you?” “Good.” Damon was grinning so broadly that his nose was crinkling up; Graham ducked his head and shoved his glasses up before smiling shyly back. “What’s your local, does it matter?” Damon asked. 

“Yeah, ‘Two Lions,’ if that’s OK. It’s not far, and Maggie’s got a terrier, she keeps it behind the bar with her. I’m fond of the little fella. The food’s not bad, too, if you’re hungry.” Damon’s heart cracked a little at the reference to the dog, could this boy be any more lovable? “Maybe when we get there, right now I’m just wanting a beer. Lead on, MacDuff.” They turned from the darkened record shop and set off down the street, Graham pointing out interesting shops along the way. He was more relaxed playing the tour guide, the neighbourhood being more familiar to him, Damon having been there for only about a month. Damon found his animated chatter extremely appealing, and also...comfortable. Just walking and talking together gave their physical proximity more ease. 

Graham stopped in front of a small shop that had guitars and fiddles and ukuleles in the window. “This one’s my favourite, I spend way too much time in here. There’s a vintage Gibson that I fancy, and I’m saving up for it. All I’ve got is a battered hand-me-down right now.” Damon sang softly, “I’ve got a Gibson, without a case...but I can’t get that even-tanned look on my face…” and Graham joined him: “Ill-fitting clothes, and I blend in the crowd, fingers so clumsy, voice too loud…” and they laughed. “That album’s my favourite! I wanted to be Pete when I was in school,” Graham said. “Still do, maybe.” “With me it’s wanting to be James Michael Cooper, I think. Or Phil Daniels, I suppose. I must have watched that movie a dozen times,” Damon admitted. “I’ve got a song on the go, working it out on the piano, some of the lyrics are inspired by the movie: “we wear the same clothes cuz we feel the same.” 

“I’d like to hear that, when you’re done…” Graham met his eyes as he turned away from the window, and felt the heat flush his face as he noticed Damon’s gaze flick from his eyes to his mouth and then back up again. “Shit. I’m not imagining this.” he thought. “Something tells me he’s not as inexperienced as I am...this would be easier if he weren’t so lovely!” 

“So, the music thing...since school?” Graham shook his head. “My dad was a military man. Band leader. I was born in Germany when he was stationed there and the house was always full of music. I play all sorts of instruments but guitar…yeah. I love it. But you write songs?” 

Damon grinned. “Bad poetry. The music part just hits me. Dunno where that came from. My parents are kindasorta hippies and just let my sister and I play around with whatever we wanted to be creative so I was taking piano lessons quite young. I suppose it got to be a habit in school, kept me preoccupied with something when I was avoiding actual school work. And the school bullies.” He looked sideways at Graham for his reaction. Graham grimaced. “Oh. Yeah. I understand that. Narrow-minded thick headed bastards, some of my classmates.” The slender fingers of his right hand reached up and rubbed across his forehead as they continued walking. Damon fought down the urge to grab the hand and hold it, concerned that he’d brought up a bad memory when they hardly knew one another. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset. Sounds like we had the same kind of blissful school career, though.” He snorted. “I was never so relieved as when I got out of there.” 

“That’s all right,” Graham said softly, “me, too.” It seemed that even one as blessed with the kind of beauty Damon possessed could have a difficult time navigating public school. 

Twilight was almost full on the town now and the streetlights were coming on, traffic not as busy as when Graham had closed the shop, and the sound of the ocean on their right, one street over, was more evident. Damon couldn’t help glancing down a side street in that direction, to see if the beach were visible. “Is the pier that way? It’s terrible, I’ve been working long hours and I haven’t even made time to walk that way yet. It’s a shame, I’ve always wanted to live near the ocean and I ought to have done that sooner.” “Do you want to go now?” Graham asked eagerly. “I’m not that hungry, if you aren’t. The pub is open late.” “That would be lovely.” Damon smiled. It would seem natural now to reach for Graham’s hand. Something about the boy’s quick excited response to his comment made Damon ALMOST certain that this smitten feeling was mutual. But he hesitated, still. The signs were there but he was determined to not muck this up. If Graham’s sweet nature was born out of sweet innocence, Damon was not going to make the first move and create a disaster. It was torturous, though. The dark eyes, the perfect brows, the bow of his lips...sharp twinges of arousal kept hitting Damon. He was making a conscious effort to not think about the things he’d imagined doing to the slim body that was walking so close beside him. 

The day had been clear and calm and warm and the surf was low, the ocean almost peach coloured in the twilight, reflecting the sky, the sun newly set. The moon was a sliver of a crescent in the south east. The pier was still bustling with day tourists who hadn’t headed for the pub or arcade and by an unspoken instinct the boys avoided it and headed down to the edge of the beach, to the hard packed sand, deserted now that the swimmers had gone. 

“Since I was little, I’ve had this dream…” Damon began. Graham, slightly ahead, turned and walked backwards in front of him, smiling. “Go on.” Damon shook his head slightly and smiled back, struck momentarily dumb by the graceful beauty in front of him. “Ummm the sand. I dream about black sand. And it’s cold, not like southern England.” 

Graham paused for a beat for Damon to catch up and turned to match step with him. “Iceland.” “What?” Graham grinned. “It’s Iceland. The sands are black there, the volcanic rock. Geography was one subject I didn’t hate.” Damon stopped, astonished. “Get on with you. Why would I dream about some place I’m completely ignorant of?” Graham laughed. “ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth’ “ “So English lit, too?” Damon teased. “Maybe a bit. We all know that one, though. And don’t be deceived. This water is bloody cold.” 

Damon stopped and surveyed the roll of the waves for a bit, mock pensive, nose wrinkling abruptly in a huge grin as he bent and started to unlace his boots. “Dare you. Fancy a wade?” 

Graham’s mind was in a whirl. This was not supposed to happen to him. This stunning boy was insinuating himself too quickly into his heart. This felt too comfortable too soon and his skeptical instinct, his lack of self-confidence, was making him almost want to back away. It must have shown in the way he stiffened up, hesitating, fingers going to his forehead again momentarily. Damon had dropped to the sand gracefully, working the boots free from his feet, turning up the legs of his jeans and stripping off his socks. He glanced up towards Graham, his smile fading a bit when he noticed the blankness of the slim pale face. “Hey...I’m sorry. God, I always make this mistake.” He shook his head. “We’re prattling on a bit, and I just assume that you’re as head over heels as I am. To be completely honest, I’m not too good at hiding when I fancy someone and it gets me in a lot of trouble sometimes.” He reached for a sock, ready to reassemble his footwear. 

“Wait, please,” softly, from above him. Graham knelt down beside the blond boy, a timid smile brightening his features. “I do fancy a wade. I do fancy you. My problem is I’ve been denying a lot of things for a long time. Maybe a blast of cold seawater would be good for me. It’d clear out some old rubbish from my head.” He meticulously folded the hems of his jeans, unlaced his shoes, gesturing for Damon to continue, getting a huge grin in response. Damon rubbed his toes in the sand, still warm from the day’s sun. He turned to Graham and the blast of those blue eyes in the dim light was astounding. “Tell you what,” he said, “Let’s you and I decide right now that we’ll just be straight up with each other. No pretense, whether this is just for a few hours, or…” He leaned up on one elbow and got to his feet, extending a hand down to help Graham up, both of them noticing the electric surge up their arms as their hands finally connected. 

Damon squeezed Graham’s slender fingers gently before releasing his hand, and sprinted to the shore, no hesitation at all at the edge of the waves, shouting in surprise and delight as the foam covered his ankles. “It IS cold!” He laughed, throwing his arms over his head, and kicked at the oncoming water. 

Graham felt his stomach fall and rise again, turning over in a way that made him deliciously shivery. That was it. The golden boy in front of him, elfin and brilliantly beautiful, childish in his delight, took over his heart completely in that instant. Graham stood still at the shore for a moment to make sure he’d sealed the image in his head. Damon extended his arms towards him. “C’mon, it’s supposed to be YOUR baptism!” Graham laughed and let the bubbles of cold water wash over his toes and Damon reached for his hand again, pulling him into the surf properly. He stumbled a bit on a few stones and grimaced, the sudden clumsiness making him fall into and press against the other boy for a second, and Damon laughed again. “Watch out, I wasn’t serious about the baptism. It’s cold enough that I think a washing of the feet should be sufficient.” He put both hands on Graham’s shoulders to right him and Graham felt the warmth through all of him. He wasn’t used to someone being this open physically and it was utterly charming and utterly terrifying. He had a feeling that it would be too easy to get used to enjoying it. And the thoughts he’d been entertaining in the wee hours of the morning for the past two weeks were surfacing in little blasts. He wasn’t certain that he’d be able to be honest about those. 

They walked along the shore for a while, shoulders almost touching, Damon humming now and again. Graham pointed offshore, to the moon reflected now in the stilling water. “It’s getting dark. We’re likely to lose our shoes if we don’t head back. Are you hungry yet?” “Yes, now you mention it. And I want to meet this dog.” He winked, and they turned back, taking to the sand now. The lights of the nearby buildings spilled across the beach, there was music coming from one of the hotel parlours, and the sand was still warm, helping to dry their feet. It was a perfect early summer evening. They scooped up their gear from the shore and made their way to a bench close to the pier to more comfortably clad their feet again. Damon saluted the moon and blew a kiss towards the ocean. ‘Always thank nature, my mum taught me. It’s brought me good fortune so far.” Without realizing it, he touched the beads around his neck. Graham glanced over as his hand lingered on them. ‘Those are beautiful. They suit you.” Damon nodded. “My mum again. She made them for me; I was six. She said they’d keep me safe. I wondered about that when they brought me no end of grief at school but I didn’t care. And I got through it alright, I suppose. My mum’s a funny one but she’s wise in her way.” 

The pub, as promised, was not far from where they’d left the main street and was spilling warm light and the usual soundtrack of conversation and laughter and the telly towards the kerb. “What’s the dog’s name?” Graham was delighted at this question. He was dreadfully fond of the pub mascot. “Tyne. After the river. We all call him Tiny though, which Maggie says hurts his feelings, but we do it anyway. He’s a Border terrier. He has the best moustache.” 

Graham waved at the barmaid as they entered the snug little room and was greeted with a smile and an eruption of yapping from under her feet. A trim sandy dog half slid across the floor in his excitement to get to Graham, who gathered him up and tickled behind his ears, getting a thorough nuzzle from the whiskered face in response. “Watch it, Tiny, you’re getting my glasses all mucked up.” Graham laughed and set the little fellow down on the floor, where he sniffed around Damon’s boots. Damon bent to scratch his back and was rewarded with wags and a panting smile. “Their house ale is alright, unless you’d prefer something else? They do a nice jacket potato, unless you’re hungrier than that.” “That’s fine. Shall I find a spot?” 

Graham smiled and nodded. His initial nerves had disappeared in the waves and he was finding it more and more pleasant, and easier, to hold that blue gaze for longer and longer moments. He followed the little dog to the bar. Maggie’s face was incredulous. ‘Graham. WHO IS HE?” She couldn’t help gaping over his shoulder, staring as Damon made his way to a snug across the room. “Good god, he’s a stunner. I hope he’s nice as well.” Graham flushed brilliantly red. “Maggie! He’s just a friend…” He stopped. No more of this. He had to be truthful to everyone, and especially to himself. “So far. Yes, he’s lovely. He’s perfectly lovely.” Maggie beamed at him. “Good. You’re a sweetheart. You deserve only the best. The usual?” “Please. Two. And potatoes. Thanks, Maggie.” 

They’d both almost forgotten the simple pleasure of having a companion to eat with, simply enjoying the warmth of the food, of the pub, of the chatter and music around them. Sharing it somehow amplified the happiness. Their fingers collided when both reached for the brown sauce at once, and instead of being embarrassed, they beamed at each other, and Damon let his fingers graze over Graham’s wrist, pausing for a second at his pulse point. Graham let out a soft gasp, and held the boy’s gaze. Still no nerves. Simply a rush of pleasure and a quickening of that pulse in anticipation. He wondered whose flat was closer.

Graham’s was. The air was still balmy as they left the brightness of the pub and walked uphill through the streets, passing clubs with patrons just queuing and now darkened shop windows. Graham had thought earlier that they might stop in at a club, but no longer. They’d even foregone another pint and the beseeching eyes of the little terrier who’d begrudgingly accepted Graham’s promise that he’d be back soon. 

They didn’t speak much as they walked, smiling occasionally at each other when they stole little glances back and forth. Damon reached for Graham’s hand, not quite sure of himself, and broke into a delighted grin when the long fingers accepted and grasped his. Damon knew, already. Damon had almost known for certain when their bodies had melted together in the surf. Damon knew for sure when the little dog had erupted in delight from behind the bar as Graham came through the door. Damon was in love.

Retracing their steps as they got closer to the row of houses in Graham’s street, they passed the music shop that they’d paused at earlier. The darkened windows reflected their images back at them as they went by. Graham felt a jolt of realization as he glimpsed them. Always, in the past, he’d startled when seeing himself as others must, when he caught sight of his reflection, not really recognizing it as himself. But that feeling didn’t come over him tonight. Hand in hand with another boy, to his astonishment, looked comfortable. Hand in hand with THIS boy, he felt, for maybe the first time, like the person he’d been unconsciously trying to hide all his life. It was a good feeling to finally see him walking proudly down the street. 

One of the jazz clubs to the back of the music shop had a quartet playing and the music drifted into the high street as the boys passed. A gifted trumpeter was riffing on an old standard and somewhat to Graham’s surprise, Damon joined in but made it his own, mellowing and honeying the words. 

“Stars shining bright above you,  
Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’  
Birds singing in the sycamore tree  
Dream a little dream of me…” 

He squeezed Graham’s fingers and smiled as he sang. Graham caught his breath at how stunning he was, how unexpectedly rich and lovely his voice was, how much he wanted him. He made an abrupt left into the dark of a back lane, pressed Damon into the brick wall, looked him straight in the eyes. “No pretense.” Damon grinned, wet his lips, and responded, “No pretense.” 

“God, his hair is soft,” was the lone clear thought as Graham threaded his fingers into it and pulled the very willing Damon into a kiss, his mouth pliant and open at once, pressing back into Graham’s with equal urgency, letting their tongues lick together. Graham could feel Damon moan deep into his own throat, more than he could hear it. He lost track of time, of space, of anything except discovering how mindblowing simply kissing a boy could be. Kissing this boy could be. 

Damon broke the kiss with a gasp at feeling Graham’s thigh press into his groin; Graham’s gasp at his own wantonness reflected Damon’s. Damon’s eyes were huge, warm and almost hazy with desire. “You kiss lovely.” He realized he was trembling slightly. He’d never felt his body fit so well with anyone’s before - that magical mixture of comfort and lust that was so rare and so beautiful.

Graham blushed hotly. He let his fingers caress Damon’s head as he shakily confessed: “I’ve never… this is the first time...Fuck. I want you.” 

Damon leaned into the caress. “How far is your house?” 

“Shit.” Graham dropped his keys, hastily retrieved them, wrinkling his nose in mock exasperation at Damon’s giggle as he fumbled them into the lock and pulled open the door, rattling the window through which they’d first properly encountered each other. The door was quickly locked behind them. Graham shoved aside multiple pairs of shoes and boots with his foot as he pushed Damon against the hallway wall and sought out that delicious mouth again. In the dim privacy of the front hall, lit only by the glow of the streetlight coming through the door, these kisses were heated. Hungry. Graham groaned when Damon slid one hand down to the small of his back and pressed their hips together. He breathed into Graham’s ear: “You don’t kiss like this is your first time. I could do this all night.” 

Graham nuzzled his neck. “Done this with a boy? Not before tonight.” Damon traced Graham’s lips with his thumb, bit at his own lower one. “Do you...is this too fast? Do you want to slow down?” Graham’s answer was silent but emphatic, grasping the back of Damon’s neck, pulling him into another kiss as he ground his swollen cock into Damon’s. “Jesus,” Damon rasped. “I’ll take that as a no.” His head was swimming with desire but a little voice of warning chimed from behind the waves of lust coursing through his brain: don’t mess this up. 

He kissed up Graham’s neck, adoring the staccato gasps this provoked, licked at his ear lobe. “Graham.” The boy tried in vain to seek out his lips again, but Damon needed to ask. “I really fucking want you. But I really fucking like you. Please...I don’t want this to be a one-night thing.” Graham pulled back slightly and looked him in the eyes. “Me, neither. No pretense. I’ve dreamt about waking up with you. But right now…” He bucked his hips against Damon’s again. “Right now is something I’ve been waiting all my life for.” Damon let himself be taken up in another luxurious kiss. He seriously considered simply snogging the boy, for hours and hours. His lips were unearthly, especially now, red and swollen with their kissing. But he could tell from Graham’s insistent rutting against him that his need was getting torturous. 

“Hey…” Graham looked at him, panting, unable to stop carding his hand through the silky, unruly hair. His gaze shifted from hazy blue eyes, to the wide, softly smiling mouth. “Should we go upstairs?” His hips hadn’t ceased their insistent undulating. This was a revelation; Jesus, this must be the most deliriously pleasurable thing on earth. Simply pressing your hard cock against another man’s. Graham felt drunk on how good it felt.

Damon, secretly vain, secretly a show-off, shook his head slightly. “Plenty of time for that later.” He palmed at Graham’s crotch. “I want to suck your cock. Right now.” 

Graham’s knees almost buckled. He let Damon shift their positions, giving up control immediately and leaning back into the wall. Damon pushed Graham’s tweed jacket off, giggled, steadied him with his hands to his shoulders and a quick peppering of kisses to his face, and let himself slide easily to his knees. Graham’s hand remained in that mess of hair, and from his kneel on the floor, Damon pressed his head affectionately into his grasp, smiling coyly, his eyes teasing and lustful. Graham groaned. Quickly, expertly, the striped jersey was pushed up, and he felt hot breath and those lips on his belly, the graceful hands dispatching his belt, and undoing his fly. 

Not a second’s hesitation, no half-hidden sneer of disgust, nothing like the few girls who’d deigned to go this far with him. This was worship, this was hunger. This was unlike anything Graham had ever felt and he knew he wouldn’t last long. Damon hummed, tugged, slurped at him, cradling his balls, letting him slide into the back of his throat and fucking swallowing around him. This was heaven. Graham’s head hit the wall and he forgot any semblance of decorum, surprised at his own moans, even more surprised when he realized Damon was moaning just as loudly around his cock, sucking in long, steady strokes. He looked down. Graham’s imaginings didn’t even come close to how hot it was, watching his cock slide in and out of this beautiful man’s willing mouth, meeting those playful, heated eyes. Damon’s right hand grasped his base, steadying his strokes, and Graham almost swooned when he realized that Damon’s left hand had undone his own jeans and he was urgently pulling himself to orgasm, as Graham closed in on his own. “Christ! Damon! So fucking hot… god, I’m coming, I’m sorry…” Damon smiled around him, sucking harder, his own hand keeping pace inside his jeans. 

He didn’t pull off, he fucking tilted his head, opened his mouth and let Graham watch himself shoot lavishly all over his tongue, down his throat, gulping and letting out little moans of satisfaction as he swallowed, licked his lips. Damon sank back on his heels and freed his own cock, his hand twist-slipping over the head as he came, swearing, grimacing beautifully.

Graham finally let his knees give out and he joined Damon on the hallway floor, throwing his arms around him and kissing him hard, licking into Damon’s hot mouth, thinking in wonderment, “that’s me,” as he tasted the earthy, salty bitterness. Damon wiped his hand on his jeans, tucked himself inside them. Graham, astonished, watched him reverently take his still half-hard cock and ever so gently caress it before helping him do the same. He kissed him again. “You’ve got a gorgeous cock,” Damon murmured into his mouth. “I loved that. I’m getting butterflies just thinking about doing that again.” He grinned cheekily, licked his teeth lasciviously. “I adore giving head. And you taste as good as I’d imagined you would.” Graham gaped at him, then said the only logical thing. “Then I’m obviously the luckiest man in the world,” he laughed. “Will you teach me your skills?” 

“It would be,” Damon effected a slight bow, “a delight.” 

His legs appeared to have regained their strength - Graham stood clumsily and extended a hand to the precious imp akimbo on his hall floor. “My bed is a mess but it’s comfy. And there’s room for two. I guess I’ve always been an optimist.” Damon graciously accepted his hand and scrambled to his feet. Graham half turned to him on the stairs. ‘It seems surreal to be saying this, to be doing any of this: do you want to shower first? Before bed?” Damon fluttered his eyelashes. “I’m very real. And not unless you do. I’m planning on snogging your face off and playing with that pretty cock until I make you come at least a few more times tonight. You’ve got catching up to do.” 

“Thank goodness it’s Sunday,” was one of the first thoughts in Graham’s head when the high sun broke through the hazy summer cloud and hit his face, close to noon. He didn’t have to wonder if it were all a dream. The caramel coloured, slender, lovely arm that had wound its way around his belly, tenderly holding him tight, answered that. He sighed and insinuated his back and his bottom a little more firmly against Damon’s warmth and felt himself tremble in delight as Damon’s feet slid over and tickled his own. Graham usually had no reason to linger in bed, or even in the house. How strange and wonderful it was, that having this boy, who had been just an apparition until a couple days ago, in his bed, made the whole house feel more like home. 

There’d been no nerves, no shyness, no holding back. Simply laughter, and the wonder of discovery, and gentle pleasure. For both of them: Damon led the way, and his touches were returned with enthusiasm and joy. Graham recognized the holy in finding his way around a beautiful man’s body for the first time and he fell asleep in Damon’s arms feeling sated and almost blessed. Waking up feeling the same way was pure bliss. 

The perfect nose nudged into his hair, warm soft lips touched the back of his neck. “Hello, you awake?” Graham could hear the smile in the husky voice. “Turn over, babe. I want to kiss you.” A shuffling, a tossing off of covers. They wound their legs around each other’s and kissed languidly. “Hungry?” “Starving. And I’d kill for a cuppa. But it needs to be a brief intermission. If you’ve not got other plans…” Damon rubbed his hand into the small of Graham’s back, having discovered last night that it was an electrically charged erogenous zone. Graham laughed, and kissed the glorious nose. “You are my only plan. From now on.” 

There were a million things that they needed to discover about each other. Right now, none of it mattered. Their bodies fit together and craved each other and that was plenty to go on. They’d have a quick breakfast and spend the rest of the day and night in that bed, in the shower, back into a freshly changed bed that would become a rumpled, gorgeous mess again as their bodies became addicted to one another forever and they found, and planned, a multitude of ways to please each other. 

Damon would become a partner in that record shop. They’d build a small stage at the back of it, for open mic nights, for Graham to occasionally play and sing. Damon even indulged in hosting community drag nights that became very popular. He’d plant an herb garden outside the kitchen door of that little row house and they’d consider double glazing. They’d get a terrier and let him wade in the sea with them. They’d talk, and laugh, and cook, make music, swim and make love endlessly, and yes, live happily ever after in their kingdom by the sea.


End file.
